Sink or Swim
by Spring Squeezing Contest
Summary: Jasper longs to make his dreams about his best friend a reality. Will a naked night's swim give him courage or will all his hopes sink?
1. Chapter 1

Contest:** Spring Squeezing Fanfiction Contest**

Title:** Sink or Swim**

Prompts:** Phrase #8 (Taking Chances); Picture #31 **

Prompts Link:** ****dirtycheekymonkeys (dot) blogspot (dot) com / p / spring-squeezing-writing-contest (dot) html******

Rating:** M**

Word Count:** 17,740**

Summary:** Jasper longs to make his dreams about his best friend a reality. Will a naked night's swim give him courage or will all his hopes sink?**

Warnings/Disclaimer:** Language, sex and clichéd naughty teen shenanigans.**

**_Remember to go read the other entries! www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/ ~springsqueezingcontest_**

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><p><strong>Sink or Swim<strong>

His mouth is so close to my ear, just like it always is when I dream of him. There is no space between us; he invades every aspect, every iota of my consciousness. He embraces me from behind, holding me tightly to his chest. I feel the softness of his cheek against mine and my heart nearly stops when he nuzzles in even closer to me. His breath is so warm on my body, though it effectively freezes me. Fear and excitement battle viciously in my heart and mind whenever he's near, but his current proximity has me on the sweetest edge. I want to push him. I need more. But, as always, I fear that I'll gain nothing from my efforts. So I try not to move, I try not to let him feel the quaking in my heart that threatens to expose me. But I feel that my efforts to hide are fruitless; my heartbeats echo in my ears and I'm afraid that he can hear the effect his presence has on my mutinous body.

But he knows, he must know. He has to know what he does to me, that the mere thought of him incites a savage chill that rides down my spine, enlivening every nerve within me in its wake. Everything about him drives me to extremes; his scent, his smiles, his eyes, what his hair looks like when he's been caught in the rain, the way he clutches his steering wheel when he drives me to school- the list is infinite.

His hands are arguably my favorite part of him this week. Even though there are various distinctions of his physique and personality that make him simply incomparable to anything on Earth. Every day that I spend with him, my mind accumulates countless examples of his perfection. Every day, I find a new reason to want to keep finding more evidence of his greatness. Whether I allow myself to become enraptured by his natural allurement is immaterial, he exists to be noticed and adored. I could never stand a chance at resisting this inevitability.

We're all alone in the deepest hiding spot my mind can conjure. This time his hands are in the spotlight of my fantasies and for damn good reason. His pale hands are covered in the softest skin I've ever felt. I marvel at how surprisingly unspoiled they are, considering how much he uses them and what he uses them for. It always seems that the entirety of his perfect skin is impervious to his careless roughness, because it has remained as flawless and unmarred as the day I first met him. Sometimes, mostly in class, my mind wanders to all the places on his skin that I've yet to see. I wonder if he has any birthmarks; I wonder if he has any beauty marks. Then, in typical fashion, my mind runs ahead to how badly I want to run my tongue over all his secret places.

One of his large hands is pressed hotly against me, resting heavily on the lowest part of my stomach. His long, slender fingers sprawl possessively over my bare torso; the contact of his naked form on mine gives me another sensation of that peculiar, paralyzing warmth. The fingers on his other hand are not dormant like the firm hand that holds me, but, instead, are restless.

As he touches me, I feel as if there are two sides of me, separated by a wavering line. There is a part of me that is always afraid to show my hand; the part that keeps me from taking what I want without fear or hesitation. And then there's this ever growing part of me, gnawing at my reservations like a captured animal in cramped cage. Waiting to escape, waiting to take control. It resents my hesitation, it rages at my inhibitions. And I truly don't know whether I'm more afraid of acting upon my desires or of what will happen if I try to restrain the visceral wanting that constantly lives inside of me.

The trail that two of his fingers make down the valley of my throat feels as heavy as stone, but feather light. They skim torturously slowly down to the prominent arches of my collarbones, pebbling the skin there in irrepressible excitement. I am paralyzed as he explores the expanse of my chest; his curious fingers seem to wander aimlessly, though he seems to know just where to touch me so that I sigh longingly.

His hands feel so new in every spot he touches me; however, his touch is not unknown to me. I know quite well how it feels to have his hands running sensually over my willing body- in fact, his touch is all I've dreamed of for months. My dreams are filled with all of the thoughts I only dare to acknowledge when I'm alone in bed, when my constant obsessions manifest into torrid dreams where we connect in a way that I am too afraid to initiate in reality.

He breathes a trail around the shell of my ear, a pattern I long for his tongue to trace. For the first time since he's appeared to me, my careful façade of calm is compromised as my knees almost give way from the overstimulation of his breath on my ear. His nose briefly rubs against the lobe, giving me the bare minimum of his touch, though it's always just enough. Just enough to make me tense in anticipation. Just enough to make me want to beg for more.

I know when he's about to speak, because he always licks his lips before he does so, and I suddenly feel the very tip of his tongue touch my ear briefly. There is nothing but silence; not even our breaths can be heard, they don't even exist. I'm not even sure if I _am_breathing anymore. When he speaks it's barely a murmur- so clear, but like it's coming from a farther distance than just behind me.

I focus solely on his voice, not the dark unknown that surrounds us, not even his tantalizing hands massaging my chest and stomach. At last, I hear the echo of my name; it's a faraway sigh on his lips.

"Jasper."

I'm not "Jazz" or "Jazzy", his best friend, his good buddy. I'm_ Jasper_, _his_Jasper. I feel almost as if my body's density is reducing, as if I'm turning into vapor. The contentment I glean from his breathy sighs and his erotic caresses gives me a wonderfully weightless feeling. I revel in the warmth that resonates within me with every syllable of my name. Warmth, the kind that two bodies entwined can't even provide. The warmth and buoyancy is like being submerged in a heated pool.

I feel as if I'm swaying from the delirium of this feeling, but I know that he's holding me steady. The sweetest weakness falls over me as I slip deeper into the serenity of his voice and the strength of his arms around me.

My name begins to sound like a question, like he's calling to me, and even though I don't want to disturb this moment of peace I suddenly feel the need to answer him.

I try to speak, but my thoughts and voice have become imprisoned. I can't speak, I can't think. I'm trying so hard to get my thoughts together, trying so hard to make my mouth form words.

His voice is elusive as he continues to say my name, like smoke in a dark room, like mist in the rain. It trails off like an unanswered question as I struggle to speak. Why is it so hard to get my thoughts together, why is it so hard for me to break my silence?

My confusion turns swiftly into panic as, little by little, parts of me begin to feel leaden and instead of being immersed in contentment and lightness, I am tensing with heavy dread. I fight with myself as if wading through quicksand, every part of me feeling obstructed and hindered.

As I struggle to release myself from my own binding, his voice starts to fade away from me; the imprint of his touch feels as if it's sliding off my skin like a raindrop. My eyes have remained closed the whole time, so when I open them to look for him, he's not there. I immediately feel his absence, as if I was standing in the wind and it all of a sudden changed direction. I no longer feel the force of his body holding mine, and I know why.

I am literally frozen. I can't move, and the chill of his absence envelopes me completely as I accept defeat. The darkness around me further constricts me; the oppressiveness of the quiet blackness seems too massive now that I'm alone in it. The changes of my body since its release from his make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Disappointment crashes over me in heaping waves that threaten to drown my heart as I realize that he's left because I took too long to speak up.

I was too late.

I begin to wake up. I begin to feel again. I register my head on my cool pillow, my tangled sheets snaked around my legs and hips. I feel a cold sting on the exposed skin of my stomach from where my shirt has ridden up but I barely register that I'm back in my room and awake because I'm too busy trying to hold onto the memory of my dream before it fades with the phantom voice that still haunts me.

I don't open my eyes, I just lie back, feeling the tiny pinpricks in my legs and arms as my body becomes more alert. I feel as if I can see the dark space where my mind once was. I can even feel the oppressive silence.

But I can't seem to grasp the exact way it felt when his strong arms held me, when his fingers casually claimed me. I wring my thoughts, even pinching my eyes closed with the effort of trying to remember how it felt to hear him whisper my name, but I know it's a waste of time to try. The voice is gone and it's taken its memory along with it.

The sigh I heave is filled with self-loathing; I'm so tired of having the same pathetic dreams. Don't get me wrong, a recurring dream where you're encumbered in a tiny dark space, where only you and the sole subject of your thoughts are completely alone together, isn't exactly the worst dream I could have.

But the inevitable letdown I face upon waking, that's the shit I'd rather avoid.

I wish I could say that I want to stop fantasizing about him, but in truth, I would give a lifetime's worth of dreams just to have him possess me the way I need him to, whenever I close my eyes, even if I know it's a lie.

So I dream about the day he'll be with me the way I want him to, even though it'll never come. Then I wake up internally bitching about how that day will never come, before I succumb to the overpowering urge to alleviate the pain in my dick so that I can forget the pain in my heart.

Compared to many sexual fantasies, I suppose you could say that my dreams are probably a little on the bland side. I have no idea why I have these dreams filled with chaste intimacy and closeness; it's the farthest thing from my thoughts when I'm awake.

When I'm awake my thoughts are filled with the raunchiest, most salacious fantasies any teenager has the right to think of. In my daydreams, his tender touches on my body turn into frenzied groping; his hands aren't shy as he roughly grabs my hair as I wrap my mouth around his-

At the turn of my thoughts, my hands have found their way down my thighs, stroking my aching erection. Ugh, if I'm gonna get myself worked up I might as well put it to good use.

I decide to kill two birds with one stone and jack off in the shower, but I barely have one eye open when I notice a tall dark figure standing at the foot of my bed.

"The _fuck_?" It's really all I can manage to shout through the hand that immediately covers my mouth. My eyes widen so much that I don't know how they'll ever close, but they do manage to narrow in confusion when I notice that it's Edward Cullen hovering over me at 1am.

Now, normally I'd be fucking thrilled for this outcome, but as it stands, I'm wearing an old Mario Brothers t-shirt with a pair of black briefs, out of which my dick is currently trying to rip its way free. This could get awkward.

I immediately start thrashing in bed to get his hand off of me, the quicker to start in on him for nearly giving me a coronary. The idea of him in my room is too much to cope with, let alone to be sort of thankful for…so I go with a familiar feeling: irrational defensive bullshitting.

"You _asshole_!" I whisper scathingly.

And then I notice that he's laughing. I realize with mortification that I must have looked like a dying fish struggling to get away from him, "Sorry man, I thought you heard me." It might be that I've just woken up, but I have to say he doesn't sound very sorry. The smirk on his face adds to that theory.

"Heard you?" I'm not even sure if he can understand me at this point; my voice has gone way past shrill. It probably sounds a little ridiculous, like I'm struggling with puberty or something. But this isn't the time to be self-conscious around him… I have the rest of forever for that. "I was in a dead sleep; Stevie Wonder could see that from Mars!"

"Well, you _were_saying my name," he supplies through snorts. I freeze.

Christ on a cracker, he'd heard me. He'd heard me saying his _name_.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I did hear you," Okay, damage control. What can I say to my best friend when I've been caught saying his name in my sleep? At least I wasn't moaning it this time. "Er, uh….umm, I just couldn't believe it was you at first…you surprised me?" Okay, I'm not the best at lying, but hopefully the sleep in my voice can be misinterpreted for confused innocence.

"All the times I've climbed up here and now you're surprised?" His tone is somewhat skeptical, but still playful enough to not sound totally suspicious. It's true, he's climbed up in my room late at night before, but most of the time I was awake and watching the window, eagerly waiting for him to crawl into my room.

_Annnnd_ back to defensive. "What, am I on trial here now? You're the one who's breaking and entering!" He moves closer to me and leans against my wall. I sit up in bed and try to pull the covers more securely over me…the excitement of seeing Edward has in no way distracted me from my _excitement._

I hate that I always sound like I'm nagging him. I'm always yelling at him but it's more out of self frustration. Do you know how hard it is to be on your guard constantly? The tension kills me on a daily basis and the infuriating part is that he has no clue at all that he's the reason I'm so crabby. It hadn't always been like this; _I_hadn't always been like this. But ever since I met him, he's just brought out the strangest and strongest emotions from me. So, occasionally, though I'm not proud of it, I kind of snap at him.

"Well the window _was_open." He shrugs as he begins thumbing through the magazines I'd left on my nightstand. It isn't even just an excuse, it's an accusation. He's pinning this on me!

"Since when does an open window mean you should climb into it?" My eyebrow is raised but he's not even looking at me; just smirking adorably as he picks up the first magazine, which is probably my subscription to _Monthly Motors_. Recently I'd become obsessed with buying a motorcycle.

"Had the window been closed, it may have given me more pause." His tone is mocking because I know he doesn't pause for anything, it's not in his nature at all. Out of the two of us, he's the most impulsive but it's a part of his charm. Edward's the type of guy who just is. He doesn't overanalyze like I do, he just goes with the flow. I may be biased, but that saying could have been created for him.

"So wanting fresh air is a crime in this town?" My argument is dying as I watch him in the muted moonlight streaming from my open window. I feel myself slowly calming, and I find it so ironic that the one person in the world who has the unknowing power to make my heart race also has the power to pacify me as well. I don't know where he finds the patience to deal with my mood swings.

"Honestly Jasper, I thought you'd be awake by now. You're always up late or up early." He sighs as he turns on my light, effectively blinding me. I hiss at the stab of pain in my retinas and rub my fists in my eyes. When I can finally see again, he's looking at me with this stupid smile on his face and then he's just sort of staring at me.

I look down to notice that my blanket is covering most of my chest, but my legs are left completely exposed all the way up to the thigh. I don't even want to think about the tragedy that is my hair right now, unless Edward wants to see a grown man cry.

"For the love of god, could you turn around or something?" I fire at him as I jump out of bed, wrapped in my blanket like I'm some goofy Greek statue or something.

He turns around anyway, but he still asks me, "What for?"

"I'd like to put some clothes on?" I ask sarcastically as I nervously look for any piece of clothing at this point, but it's hard because in my panic I've managed to wrap myself in this blanket like the finest burrito, so when I move I look a little like Cousin It. I seriously can't win for losing here.

I should probably mention that the shirt I'm wearing is Edward's. He'd left it over when he visited me after practice. I could lie and say that I'm wearing it because I missed laundry day, which is pretty plausible in any young guy's case. But sometimes, I wish that I could just admit that I wore it because it smelled like him and that I loved being surrounded by a part of him…even in cotton form.

Maybe he won't notice?

I quickly wiggle loose from my blanket bindings and seize a pair of pants hanging over my chair. "Dude, I've seen you in the locker room," he shrugs and sits on my bed, beginning to read my magazine. I'm just staring at him, one leg in my pajama pants and I nearly fall face first onto the floor. He rolls his eyes and sighs like he's impatient. "Just grab some pants or something."

I'm completely nonplussed over what he's just said. I feel like there's a little guy in my head running in circles, screaming and throwing confetti. But is that the right reaction? He's seen me in the shower but that doesn't mean he's _noticed_ me in the shower. _Seen_ and _noticed_ are two very, very different things. Is it possible, even by the slightest chance, that he liked what he saw? Is it possible that he may be peeking over at me as much as I peek at him? But I would have seen that…or maybe I didn't _notice_that.

I'm standing here with my pants around my ankles, one leg in and one leg out. Just staring at him as he casually flips through the pages, it's so quiet that every ruffle of them seems louder than usual. He's sitting on my bed, right in front of me, but he feels miles away. I'm filled with this indecision that he'll never understand, feelings that he'll never know. He's never felt so far away before. I feel this overwhelming urge to ask him something, but I don't even know what to ask. But I know that I could ruin something pretty important to me by asking something really weird.

See what I mean by constantly being on my guard?

I yank up my pants quickly and mumble, "Whatever." It's my go-to, really.

As soon as I'm fully clothed he looks up at me and suddenly grins, "So, how 'bout it?"

I roll my eyes before playing along. "How about what?"

I hadn't thought it was possible for him to smile any wider, but he does, jumping off my bed excitedly. "Making a little mischief?" His intent matches the tiny gleam in his green eyes. And here we go.

Before I came to Forks, Edward had never seen nor had he ever read the _Harry Potter_series. When I first met him, my awkward jokes that referenced the series would fall depressingly flat, and it was then that I found out that he wasn't 'into that stuff'. That just wouldn't do, so I ended up inviting him over to watch all the movies with me. I was on tenterhooks the entire time; watching him watch one of my favorite things was oddly thrilling, it was a part of me that I was showing him, and I craved this smallest piece of his acceptance.

The first two films didn't trigger much more than amusement and polite interest from him, so as I grew steadily more disheartened by our lack of _another_thing in common, I just knew he wasn't going to like the third installment. To my surprise he immediately took interest in one aspect of the series which before, had seemed quite innocuous to me. He was completely intrigued by The Marauder's Map, and from then on whenever we were alone, he'd reference the map before he'd propose some form of teenage rebellion.

To the sane mind, his interest in _Harry Potter_really wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but in my infatuated teenage mind it meant that I was meant to suck his dick…or whatever.

When I first moved here from Texas, I hadn't anticipated making any friends. I hadn't really had many friends in the first place; I was always too introverted to keep anyone's attention for too long. And to be honest I hadn't really wanted to keep up with all the other kids' bullshit, we just never really meshed.

So when I met Edward and he was the complete opposite of me, I was surprised at how intriguing he was. I was surprised that his joking jock exterior didn't make me want to mock him with sarcasm, surprised at how his innocent friendliness broke through my jaded indifference so easily.

We were biology partners, but in the span of a month we taught each other more things than Mr. Banner ever had. I introduced him to books, movies and music. He introduced me to girls, parties, and pranks. I didn't really like those things, but he made them so appealing.

In no time at all, we were able to truly see one another for what we were and it was something I'd never experienced before. He showed me he wasn't some stereotype; in contrast to his wildness and his impulsiveness he was actually quite an abstract thinker and always willing to see every angle of anything we talked about. When we'd hang out, just us, he just had this calmer side. I'd like to say I brought it out in him, but that's probably wishful thinking.

He's smart, funny and an all around nice guy- add in his good looks and it's no wonder that he's the most popular guy in school.

About two months after finally making a real friend, I slowly came to terms with my _unfriendly_ feelings.

Which brings me to the running joke that is my life.

"What kind is it now?" I look over at him, waiting. I should have known there was a reason he'd be here at this time of night, some type of scheme.

"C'mon, Jazz." Is he _pouting_at me? My blood pressure can't handle all this. I'm simply too turned on to look at him, it's embarrassing. I turn to the window to 'deliberate'.

"It's one in the morning, what could we _possibly_do?" I need him to distract me from pushing him down onto my bed and sucking his teasing bottom lip slowly with my own.

And as if the universe wasn't already in a plot to get me to come in my pants, he begs me, "_Please._"

I have to stop this before I snap. "Well, we are reasonably young and stupid…what the hell." It's as close to an agreement as he's going to get out of me.

"Great, let's get going." He's grinning again, and I roll my eyes at myself to tamp down the warm feeling in my stomach that's a reaction from knowing that I can make him smile at me like this.

I sigh as if it's some burden to spend time with him. "Fine, I just need to grab a shower and change." I turn towards my bathroom door, but he rushes in front of me.

"You really don't need to-" He's being weird about this; it should be my first clue that he's up to something. But at the moment, I'm mainly focused on escaping to the confines of my shower so I can wash off and calm down a little…and possibly jerk off quietly.

I try to step around him, but he puts his hand on my shoulder, and my heart and right arm give a little spasm. I've really gotta get in that shower. I look at my shoulder and back away from him before I do something stupid. "Edward, it'll only take a minute."

"But-" Before he can persuade me to do otherwise, I manage to get by him and continue forward. I seriously have to have a few minutes to collect myself. I'm completely on edge. How is it that he can't see what he does to me?

"Really quick!" I call over my shoulder as I speed walk to the bathroom for dear life. The door is almost closed but I still hear him mumble.

"Isn't that my shirt?"

Fuck.

The stars watch us move silently through the night, peeking from the inky sky as we ride through my sleeping neighborhood, down the street, away from my house. There is no moon out tonight so the clusters of tiny celestial lanterns are the only light we have, aside from the reflectors in the bike ahead of mine. It's an unseasonably warm night- for Forks, anyway. Winter has barely appeared in Forks, being pushed forward by an early spring; the cold weather sneaking away, before we could get used to it. It's a first for this town, I've been told. Usually the tall trees would don thick coats of freshly fallen snow, rooftops replaced with glittering bright snow, the fields crystallized in frozen dew and you could barely step outside your house without getting your ankles grabbed by thick fluffy snow.

I never thought I could become excited over weather, but the way Edward would describe the frozen river that stood still behind his house, the cold fog that hovered in the usually verdant forests, and the earthy hickory smell of burning wood that wafted from his chimney had me secretly counting the days to the first snowfall.

All cold weather had completely bailed after the Christmas holidays and the climate became warmer and warmer with no determined point of stopping. It was now the first weekend in March, and the entire town had completely thawed. Coming from a dreadfully arid desert town, I had been a little excited to see the beautiful blue blackness of a cold winter's night. I had wanted to feel the blistering cold bite at my cheeks and nose, I had wanted to wear a ridiculously heavy coat and scarf as I struggled through the snow as if I lived in Siberia.

That never happened.

For most of the winter, we'd gotten clumps of flurries, lobbed down from pale grey skies. No snow days for us; we had been lucky just to see an inch or two. Roads looked like they'd been layered with torn cotton balls, blackened by cars; the mix of salt and slush on the sidewalks resembled dirty oatmeal; the gutters of houses looked like they'd been stuffed with melting vanilla dirty goose down, and most of the awnings were covered in crying icicles.

Needless to say, I found "winter in Forks" severely lacking in wonderment.

Maybe I've jinxed it.

"Pedal faster!" Edward whisper-yells from up ahead. I've been following his red-hoodied form for a few blocks.

What's his damn hurry?

"I'm going as fast as I can; this is a ten-speed, not a Harley!"

"We wouldn't have to rush if you hadn't _had_to take a shower!" he complains, but I was not about to leave the house smelling and looking a sweaty mess. I just hope I don't catch a cold; my hair is still a little damp.

"Where are we going anyway?" I know it's pointless to ask, but I am so curious as to what appointment we could have at half past one in the morning.

"If I tell you, you won't wanna come." His laugh is carefree on the wind and warmer than my sweatshirt.

My thoughts are so loud that I feel like he can hear them; they tell him that's the stupidest thing he's ever said because I would follow him anywhere. The words are true and sit in my head, on the edge of my tongue, so I hurry to contradict them. "You're probably right."

He's leading me to the very edge of town, but I'm not worried because we don't have a whole lot of town anyways. We've been going for about 45 minutes now. My butt is numb and I'm getting a cramp in my thigh. I'm not exactly the most athletic, not like Edward is. He's zooming down the street like he's Lance Armstrong or some shit, and I'm struggling not to let him hear me huffing and puffing behind him.

"Is it any _farther_?" I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm whining, or whining breathlessly.

"Relax, we're almost there." His voice is completely unaffected by our bike riding. I'd be jealous if I wasn't so obsessed with him.

He said that ten minutes ago and we haven't even begun to slow down. He's been moving straight ahead for most of the trip, only making two short lefts before resuming a steady path to who-the-fuck-knows where. He hasn't said a word, just keeps peddling swiftly through the street, the only noise between us being the quiet ticking of our bike chains and the rolling of tires against the wet road.

The air has grown steadily warmer- not drastically so, but enough for me not to see the wisps of my breath on the air anymore. My hands are frozen though; I've always had cold hands, and they feel as if they're soldered to the handles of my bike.

I have no clue as to where we're going. I've stopped guessing, and I know asking is futile. He hasn't said a word; hasn't even changed his position on his bike, except only to quickly check if I'm still behind him. We pass by small neighborhoods, our school and tiny shopping centers. The town seems to have shut down completely; there are no signs of life as we quietly ride around town. There are no cars on the road with us; it makes me feel like we're the only two people awake in the world. That fact fuels my desire that wherever we are going, it'll be just the two of us there.

I try to distract myself by looking into the sky- I'm not worried about running into Edward, because that would mean I'd have to be fast enough to do that…I'm really not. I watch the stars, something that I find myself doing a lot more often than I'd like to admit, because I know I'm not simply stargazing, but wishing. I've always been a bit of a cynic about wishing. Never truly hoped for anything either; hoping and wishing were things for people who wanted things, wanted change. I never wanted anything, not really. I'm a grounded person; I keep a firm hold on reality. I don't waste time dreaming about a different life, I just live the one I have. I always figure that if you can't get something you want, there's no point in making yourself miserable by hoping for it.

In the past six months that I'd known Edward, I'd come to notice just how complacent I had gotten about life. But when I'm around him, I realize that I don't want a stale life, that I actually want something more. I can't define what more is, but it definitely has something to do with the way I feel when I'm with him. I want the permanent rush of excitement when I see him standing outside of a classroom door, or even just the race of heat that covers my body when we're alone in his room.

But mostly, I just wish I could tell him this stuff. I can't deny any of it, but I'm so sick of holding back. So, when I'm in bed alone, I completely force away all the impossibilities of what I want in life and I find that I'm quite the dreamer, wishing for things that can never be. I look out my window and watch the sky until I fall asleep, and even though I'm aware that miracles don't happen, I still fall into dreams where they do.

But I can't shake my pessimism forever; reality can only be ignored for so long, so even as I stare at the heavens I sometimes have to acknowledge that I'm more likely to count every star in the sky than for one of them to grant me any wishes about the only person I've ever dared to wish for.

My eyes fall from the sky, onto him, just in time to see him make a sharp right around the corner. His increase in speed makes me feel like we're getting closer to his destination.

"C'mon, this way." He turns a little to make sure I'm still following him. His voice is overflowing with stifled excitement, and I'm not sure whether to be amused by his exuberance or wary of what is causing it. I go with a little bit of both and follow him towards what looks like an old park. But there are no swing sets, slides or sandboxes. Just two lonely park benches and a busted-looking jungle gym. The playground is cast in an eerie glow by only one working lamppost wedged in the corner; the other light is shattered with shards of glass at its feet.

It's kinda creepy.

He completely ignores the entrance into the park for a crooked path to the far left. The sign at the start of the path looks like it says 'Bike Path', but it's so bent out of shape, I can't really be sure. I don't recognize where we are, but the surrounding trees and flora make me slightly claustrophobic. He's going faster down the trail now, it looks like he's practically racing to get where we need to be. It's difficult to follow him now due to his speed and the overhang of trees and brambles that hit my arms and face, effectively slowing me down. The area is growing darker as we head deeper through the encroaching forest; I can't hear anything but the wind that's suddenly picked up and the rattling of our bikes dashing down the trail.

Further and further we go, the density of the trees making the night impossibly dark. I'm a little nervous but I continue to follow Edward. I'm completely at a loss as to where we could be going until I see him swerve to a stop at the very end of the trail. He drops the bike to the ground and walks forward a few feet, then stops. I can't see what he's staring at, but he's completely still. As soon as I get close to him, I jump off my own bike and hurry toward him to see what he's looking at.

My mind grinds to a halt when I get near him and look forward. There's nothing in front of him but a broken bridge- the other half is completely gone and just rubble in the river beneath where it once was. It almost looks like an unfinished painting. I'm about to ask him what the fuck is going on when he looks over to me and speaks.

"Okay, now we walk."

"Walk?" Is he crazy? The only thing we could possibly do is turn left and continue on around the trail, or turn back altogether, "Walk _where_?"

He laughs at my tone, which is bordering on panicky, and proceeds to our right where there's a small break in the trees; he gestures to it with a flourish. He can't expect us to go into the _woods_? But his smile completely suggests that's exactly what the fuck he expects us to do.

He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a long, thin silver flashlight; brandishing it like a torch, he starts to go forward but notices that I haven't followed him.

"Jazz?" He calls to me; his voice is shocked, like he can't believe I'm not following along behind him.

I'm not moving from this damn spot. My arms are crossed, my voice is stern. "No way, you never said we were going in the woods."

"Wait, you're not _scared_are you?" He's not making fun of me. Even in the dark, I can almost see the concern in his eyes because I can hear it in his voice. He steps away from the woods towards me, but I don't want him to know how true his accusation is.

"Of course not." I try to appear nonchalant but I don't think I'm doing a good job of it. He ignores my denial and stands over me; he's a good four inches taller than my 5'10'' so I feel sort of small under his gaze. The darkness is so heavy around us that the only thing that burns brighter than his flashlight are his eyes as they bore into my own.

"Because you know I wouldn't let something happen to you." Fear and chilliness, that's what I'd blame my shaking on if he ever asked me. But the truth? His hand on my shoulder both emboldens me and makes me shake to the soles of my shoes. I can almost feel my mind changing, making a decision in his favor.

I hate how when we do normal things, it feels surreal to me. It's like my dreams are the way things should be and that hanging out with him is just strange.

My sigh is filled with self-resentment and defeat, but he merely takes it as acceptance of his promise and his plans. Now his mega watt-smile joins in with his eyes, brightening his shadowy form.

"Great, now c'mon!"

I feel like checking my forehead because I definitely feel like someone stamped the word 'Sucker' on there. I can't believe I'm going to be traipsing around the woods in the middle of the night, I might as well deliver myself to Jason Vorhees and save him the trip.

We don't walk very long, ten minutes maybe, but soon we're standing in a clearing surrounded by, you guessed it, more trees. It's like we're in the very heart of the forest, enclosed in this circle. He's still not saying anything; I don't even try to entertain myself with guesswork of his mind. But I still wonder why he's stopped; I wonder why we're here.

I've about had it with the suspense by now. I walk over to him determined to get some answers when he looks over at me with this smirk, and I'm momentarily stunned.

What am I doing?

It happens so fast that I'm not even sure when it does, but he suddenly strips off his big red hoody, his white shirt comes off along with it. In an instant, I'm staring at the deep line of his spine in his alabaster back as he drops his clothes at the bottom of a nearby tree. Immediately, he's working his jeans off and I'm wondering if I'm conscious right now.

He looks up and laughs as he hurries to take his clothes off, "You should probably do the same, Jasper." The way he says my name echoes in my head, which is completely hollowed out by blunt confusion. I feel completely paralyzed as he stands in front of me in only his boxers.

Did he bring me here to…no. _No_. Absolutely not. He did not bring me here for_ that_. I refuse to even wrap my mind around the possibility, even if it's happening right before my eyes. There just has to be an explanation for this.

My thoughts churn sluggishly as I watch, painstakingly, as his fingers play with the lining of his boxers, and before I can blink, they're falling to the forest floor with a resounding swish that makes me almost fall over. The silence that follows is cut off by his deep laugh.

And there he is, in the blackness, standing naked before me. I have no idea how this happened, it's just not sinking in. I refuse to look below his neck because I'm really trying to calm down and I know that seeing his cock won't help with that.

My head is floating from the impossibility of this moment; my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen. I seriously can't tell if this is a dream or reality and it's scaring the crap out of me. Have my erotic daydreams gone too far? Have the limits of my imagination finally soared off into oblivion?

But I can feel the wind at my throat, moving my hair and prickling my skin. I feel the dampness of the wet earth beneath my shoes, the pain in my throat from holding onto frenzied questions. This has to be real. I brace myself onto a nearby tree, partly to double check if it's real and partly to keep from losing my balance. I want to ask him why he's gotten naked, I want to be rational about this, but I'm afraid to speak.

If it's what I won't even dare to think, I don't know what I'll do. It's ironic really, how unprepared I feel. The past six months, my existence has proven itself poised and ready to jump at the sheer chance to be given a naked Edward. But now, it's like I've never even dreamed of it. He's standing naked, not five feet from me and I'm just gaping like a codfish.

Is this what it feels like to get what you want, to finally have what you've been wishing for so unexpectedly? I've never gotten everything I've ever wanted, let alone so quickly. But in the rare times I thought I could, I was prepared for extreme joy, preparedness, hell, even a massive stiffy, but not this feeling of complete bewilderment. I never thought it was possible to feel so much at once; it's overwhelming.

I'm really not handling this well at all, and at this point, he's staring at me like I'm having a stroke. He might be right in the assumption. I try to collect myself; deep breaths, steady deep breaths.

He stares at me. In the limited light of his flashlight I can see his eyebrows furrow together. He looks confused...he's standing naked in front of me, and _he's _the one confused.

"Just get naked and go with it, Jazz." It's like he's pulled the thought directly from my own head. I desperately want to, god knows I do, but my body refuses to receive the signal. I'm standing stock still in front of the naked man of my dreams as he beckons me to join in this spontaneous nude and freaky moment; it's through sheer will to live that my heart hasn't stopped beating. Its frantic pounding in my ears is my only proof of this.

There is nothing between us but silence and apprehension. His eyes lock onto mine, and our breaths appear to be oddly synchronized. It's like he's daring me to do something, willing me to say something.

Then he shakes his head and gives me this smile, like he knows I won't do anything…just before he takes off into the trees.

His absence triggers my immediate response to chase him. "Wait, where are you going?" My voice is hoarse, but sounds so loud bounced back from the trees onto my ears. I don't understand anything right now; I just know that if I lose sight of him, here and now in this living day dream, I could fall apart.

He disappears through another slight break in the trees and I hurry after him…this is so fucking weird. I don't even have time to process feelings of disappointment that he didn't stay and prove himself wrong, that I would take off my clothes and reveal more than just my naked body to him. It's just like a dream, one I've had so many times before. I follow him but I don't have to run far, I stop immediately as I see his naked form and the overwhelming idea that I could actually be dreaming renews itself in every cell of my body.

When I finally catch up to him, I notice that he's facing a lake, and that the lake is surrounded by people.

Naked people.

"What the fuck is this shit?" I shout as I'm dragged back to the entrance of the woods. The bizarre scene of naked people by the lake whirls away from me as Edward marches me away. I can't even attempt to struggle away from him, I'm completely limp with shock.

"Jasper." He shushes me and this just completely infuriates me. The fuse is completely lit and I'm in terrible danger of exploding, he better fucking explain this shit.

He's looking towards the lake; the lake that I had no idea was even past these woods. He looks back to me with a hopelessly pleading expression. I hate it when he looks that way, I almost always fold like a lawn chair, "You can't be fucking serious, Edward."

My voice is a plea as well; he can't expect me to do this. I seriously can't believe he would do this, though I can't make the argument 'this isn't like him'. I think I'm more angry at myself for blindly following him into this situation.

"I told you; if you knew, you wouldn't have come," he sighs like he's fucking disappointed, like he just _knew_I wouldn't go along with this. And then I hear him mumble, "I knew I shouldn't have taken you here." It's about all I can take.

"Oh _really?_" I seethe, "Really? _Now _you know you shouldn't have '_taken me here'_?" I might be the angriest person in the world using air quotes right now.

"Jasper!" he warns. He tries to keep me from raising my voice, which would no doubt attract attention from nearby nude swimmers. I guess he doesn't want to draw focus to the fact that there's a guy with clothes on amidst a bunch of psychos without a stitch on. The irony.

"No, you said you knew you shouldn't have brought me here, when did you know?" I can feel my neck and face heat up from my frustration; he tries to interrupt me but I've only just gotten started. "Was it before you broke into my house and scared the shit out of me? Or was it before you made me get out of my bed in the middle of the night to ride all the way across town?" I laugh bitterly. I knew it had been too good to be true that he had been in my room only seconds after dreaming of him. "Or maybe it was when you had me riding my bike in the dark, to walk in the woods like a scene out of a Wes Craven movie?"

He's crossed his arms and has this bored look on his face; does he even care how embarrassing this is for me? "No, wait, maybe you had some doubts before you stripped butt naked in front of me, then ran through the woods like a whackjob?"

"Don't overreact, you're overreacting." He sighs, yet again. His exasperation with me further annoys me. As if I'm _so_typical or something.

"What? So I'm supposed to be okay with the fact that Forks turns into a nudist colony at night?" It's official, I'm shouting.

"Whoo, yeah!" A sharp drunken yell carries over to where we're standing, "Hey Erica, another hottie!" She slurs.

We look in the direction of a cluster of naked chicks, staring at us from their perch over on a dock. The dock is lit with lanterns lining it and it's in the slight glow that I notice that one of the girls is in my trig class. In fact, the more I glance at the people running around the lake, I notice that they're not just naked people, they're naked kids. Naked kids we know. Edward surreptitiously shifts his weight to block me from view but I'm not having it, I step around him taking everything in.

From where we're standing, I feel slightly idiotic. I can't believe that I didn't hear the splashing of bodies hitting water, or the laughs and screams from about 50 kids. How could I not have smelled the saltiness of the water or the reek of alcohol spilled in the surrounding grass at the water's edge? I can't believe I was so wrapped up in Edward that I hadn't heard the loud music, heavy in synthesizer and bass but low on quality.

The more I look at the lake, the more I notice that I've been here before. There had been a church picnic here, my mother had brought me; she had wanted to get to know our neighbors. I remember the sky had been the rarest shade of blue, the area was decorated with streamers and picnic tables and it was all very welcoming. It was a totally opposite scene from what I'm seeing now. Of course, it looks a little different here at night…with a bunch of naked kids in the water.

Edward's voice comes from behind me, "It's not like that; it's a rite of passage. All the upperclassmen do it." Here we go; another rite of goddamn passage. He's been completely obsessed with them this whole year ever since Emmett told him about them. Because of him, I've been an accessory to way too many crimes…including egging Principal Newton's car.

I turn back toward him. "You sound just like your damn cousin, that stupid rite of passage stuff. We're not even seniors yet!"

"Jazz, we're already here. It's really not a big deal." I don't know how he does it, but he's actually trying to reason with me. And another punch of irony hits me as I realize he's actually trying to persuade me to take my clothes off.

"I'm not taking anything off, Edward." I completely mean it, this time he's gone too far. I'm just about to demand he put his clothes on and help me find my way back to through to the park, when someone shouts to us.

"Hey! Either get naked or get out!" Before I can register how familiar the voice is, I'm already preparing to cuss some motherfucker out.

That's when I see huge Emmett McCarty lumbering toward us, flanked by two completely nude girls, one under each of his massive arms. His cheesy grin does nothing to reign in my aggravation.

"Ed, you made it!" he laughs. That's how he talks, his voice always filled with childlike mirth. Idiot.

"I should have known you were in on this…" I really should have. It was just too much to ask for a quiet weekend. I hadn't had one since I'd met these two.

"Genius isn't it, ladies?" His eyebrows wiggle obnoxiously, causing the two bimbos to giggle.

Just to our left I see a group of kids, two boys and a girl. They're racing each other to the embankment, stripping their clothes off quickly before they jump into the water with hoots and screams of the utmost exhilaration. I watch them: naked and free with huge smiles on their faces.

Not a care in the world.

I turn back to Emmett, naked as a jaybird with two naked girls currently rubbing his chest languidly; I look over at Edward who has been watching me intently. I didn't notice until this moment that I am surrounded by my naked best friend, his cousin and these girls staring at me with a heavy air of expectation.

So this is peer pressure.

To seal the deal, Emmett chuckles. "Come on Hale, you don't want to ruin things for Eddie do you?"

"All I'm saying is, this isn't 1975." We're in the lake now, just the three of us. I have to admit, once I got used to the fact that everyone here was naked and for the most part, wasted, I began to get more comfortable. And to be honest, I have nothing to be ashamed of. Even though I'm not captain of the basketball team like Edward, my body doesn't lack the toned definition that he has. It's just that I prefer to read comic books while on the treadmill as opposed to doing suicides in the blistering heat like Emmett during football season. Whatever gets it done, right?

"Don't be so negative, Hale. The weather has been very nice, it's only natural that we take advantage." Emmett is trying not to argue with me, but my nitpicking always chips away at his naturally jovial mood.

"Seriously, who still skinny dips?" I snort. I guess it beats a night of people-watching in the parking lot at Walmart.

"Ed, why are you always bringing him around?" Emmett whines.

"Jazz is just fucking with you." Edward's on cloud nine as he guzzles from another clichéd red cup of beer, becoming impossibly more laid-back by the minute. "Besides, you know we have more pull when we're all together." It was true, when the three of us are together anywhere, women swarm us.

"That doesn't make up for the fact that he's the world's biggest wet blanket." Emmett punches me lightly.

_I'll give him wet blanket_, I think, as I splash water in his face, "You're just mad because this is a lame idea." I'm the only one that's sober at this point, my voice becomes serious with my next thought. "And we really-

The burly jerk cuts me off, mimicking me,"-'could get caught'." He says it in this weird high pitched, southern accent that sounds nothing like me. "You say that all the time but we never do. Hell, I'm starting to think we're untouchable, eh Edward?" He gloats but it's lost on Edward.

I look over at Edward, who's now swimming forward quickly, splashing Emmett again in the face.

"Where're you going?" I'm glad Emmett beats me to asking him because I really wanna know, more than I should. I can't help but feel a little safer when he's around, I would never have done this if he wasn't here. We haven't been in the water long, so the two of them make up my comfort zone for now.

"Gonna get another drink, stay with Jasper," he calls back as he swims away toward the crowd. I'd have suggested he send those two members of Emmett's harem, but they kinda took off when someone shouted 'Jello shots'.

Emmett mumbles a "Whatever", already a little drunk, and floats around on his back with his eyes closed. It's temporary, though, soon he'll wanna go and find more girls or something; he's always restless. I try to compose my features before he looks over to me. Whenever Edward, Emmett and I hang out together, I feel a bit paranoid. Sometimes I feel like Emmett knows, notices that I stare too much or laugh too long. Sometimes I feel like he knows I want to fuck his cousin, even if his cousin remains blissfully unaware.

I look over at him doing a drunken backstroke. Fuck him; he's a chronic liar anyway, so say his three exes. The worse thing than being a chronic liar is being a crappy chronic liar. If he ever told Edward I was making moon eyes at him, it's not like Edward would be likely to believe him. That fact usually calms my neuroses for a couple hours.

Determined not to count the minutes till Edward returns, I decide to make the most of this. I'm not exactly the strongest swimmer but I know I won't sink to the bottom. It's only a matter of how much space I can swim around in, in this secluded spot. After I had shed my clothes and hidden them with Edward's near our bikes, I had sprinted in a speed I hadn't known I possessed and plunged into the freezing blackness that seemingly never stilled. From there, Edward convinced his cousin to find a less crowded spot in which I could get used to my public nudity for awhile before joining the rest of the morons near the docks. It's only been about 20 minutes, but I'm starting to get used to things. In a way, with everyone naked here, I don't feel like such an outsider.

I'm pondering how I can swim without exposing my butt to Emmett when I hear someone swimming our way.

"_Oh_, Mike.", comes a familiar feminine giggle.

"_Oh_, Jessica.", returns a husky sigh. The water laps against their bodies as they float near us, bodies entwined. I guess they'd been looking for a little privacy as well. I wonder if I can swim away before…

There's only a bit of silence before I'm spotted, "_Oh_…hello Jasper." She cuts off mid-moan to greet me…classy.

"Uh, hey, Jessica…Mike." I'm completely avoiding their eyes. They're the first people to see me naked out here…and the last people I'd want to see me naked out here. I'd smack my forehead in aggravation but my hands are kinda busy covering my dick.

"Hale." Mike sneers, then lights up when he notices Emmett swimming around nearby. "Hey Emmett!" He completely abandons Jessica to go brown-nose over our beloved school quarterback.

Mike and I never got along. I guess I can understand the resentment a little. Imagine being as pathetic as Mike, craving acceptance from all the popular kids but never quite getting it because your dad is a principal, and because the town is so small you get the raw deal of your dad being the principal of _your _school.

So it wasn't a big surprise that Mike didn't warm up to me after I took a seat with the popular kids from day one, something he'd been coveting for years.

Also, we totally egged his dad's car.

Thankfully, before I can be propositioned by Slutty Stanley again this week, I hear the sloshing of someone making their way over to us. My heart leaps from its normal beating, readily jumping at the chance that it could be Edward. As I peer into the muted light, my heart slowly returns back to normal.

It's Angela Weber and Ben Cheney; formerly the golden couple of Forks.

That's right, formerly.

I was told all about them when I got here, they were the poster children for abstinence and morality…until they got caught in Dr. Emerson's bio room, by Tyler Crowley, "getting their freak on" he'd shouted to the entire school.

The news over their foray into exhibitionism had spread like wildfire across campus, and before they knew it, they were scandalized by the entire town. I saw it all, the stares and whispers from teachers and students alike. Poor Angela could barely walk down the street without somebody calling her names, while Ben was lauded in the locker rooms by all the guys.

I envy them. Well, not for the fact that some stoner kid has a permanent memory of their naked asses, but for the fact that they're free.

I know it's sick, and I know it's not that simple. For months, before I even got here, they were pariahs to all parents, infamous to the town and legends to the student body. It's not something that I'd wish on anybody like me, and they _were_like me. From what I was told, they were reserved and respectful to one another; they were practically brother and sister whenever they were together.

I know it's not a problem for them anymore, but it is for me now. Harboring feelings, stifling passions, denying the truth. All they wanted was to let go, give into what they want and just seek a little peace within one another. They spent so much time pretending that I guess one day they just snapped.

Angela and Ben were just like any couple, any pair of kids in love. Now they don't have to act they aren't. I really do envy that.

Now here they are, after all that shit, seniors in high school and still in love after meeting in Sunday School ten years ago. I know I'm a pessimist but out of everyone in this town, I think I like them best. They give me a rare glimpse of hope.

I smile back at them as they join our tiny group, finally starting to feel a little more comfortable.

The warmer weather has become deceptive, I notice as I become increasingly cooler as I sit with everyone. I can't get over how this is the first time I've actually felt comfortable with Edward's friends. He's gone and I'm naked but I feel completely at ease. I've done a pretty good job not mentioning him, but I have to restrain myself from appearing too interested when another person joins our group asking where Edward is. I'm always hoping they've seen him.

I've been really good at maintaining focus; I usually can when I want to. I've actually been somewhat enjoying myself instead of wondering when Edward will come back.

I've also been diligently ignoring the fact that Edward's been walking, swimming, drinking, and laughing…naked. My eyes have had complete access to his body but I've been working nonstop against my own fixation to stare at him.

At this point, I really can't help myself.

He's come back, flocked by a group of admittedly pretty naked girls but all I can see is him. My best friend. There's so much wrong with that.

He's glorious; every time I start to doubt my feelings, the genuineness of them, all I have to do is look at him. That roguish ginger hair, his perfectly sculpted body; a vast contradiction of hard muscle and fair, feather-soft skin. That sexy, carefree smile that stretches across his full juicy lips; when I remember what those lips do to me every night in my dreams, I have to fight for control. The lower part of his body is hidden from me by the opaqueness of the water, which is probably a good thing. All of his features are currently wet, causing a rush of exaltation; the kind that only comes when faced with something new and extraordinary. The beads of water dripping from his flesh make me think of him in the shower, in the pool; so many avenues I've yet to explore in my mind.

He speaks; his voice is a rugged hand that strokes the very length of my body, almost tangible enough to make goosebumps erupt on my skin. It takes me awhile before I realize he's actually been saying my name and now there are quite a few eyes on me.

"Ladies, this is Jasper." He gestures to the bevy of women floating around him, then to me. About three or four of these girls move closer to me- their smiles unnerve me, especially his.

A weird chorus of "Hi, Jasper," sounds from them in tandem. It's like being accosted by killer sirens; it's not attractive at all. I back away from them with a look filled with foreboding…I'm willing to scream if necessary.

I look to Edward and Emmett, but Emmett is violating some chick's personal space and Edward is nowhere to be found…again. I'm not smooth enough to nonchalantly strike up a conversation with any of the others, so I'm completely prepared to make a run for it. This isn't the first time I've been set up like this, and it always ends up with someone being the complete opposite of sexy trying to convince me how sexy they are.

I can feel myself glaring at them in warning but then this girl swims through the others, just moves right through them as if she's water personified. What's odd is how I didn't see her anywhere before, she must have been behind them.

She's small, very small. Her features are sharp, in angle and in color. Her choppy jet black hair contrasts strikingly against her snowy pale skin. Her eyes are obsidian jewels, piercing in the acute way of a cat. And there's just something so familiar about her smile. I feel like I know her, or like I've seen her smiling face someplace, in the periphery of somewhere.

It's hard to explain how I feel when I'm confronted by this waifish girl but her presence is strangely disarming. She wordlessly commands my attention without a word, hooking her arm through mine. It's as if she's meeting me at a brunch, not naked in the middle of a lake. I don't know if she's staking her claim on me, I'm not even sure if I want her to, but it does help to make all the other girls swim away.

Something that's really jarring about her is how beautiful she is, she really is beautiful. It's more like a fact than an observation; she just has this beauty, natural beauty. Maybe I've been drinking too much, too.

There's no other way to describe her smile but radiant. "Hi, I'm Alice." All her teeth are showing, but it's not threatening in the least. In fact, I feel quite comfortable around her. Her face has this excitement on it, like she couldn't wait to see me…odd.

"Hi." I parrot back distractedly. I don't like her, but I like her. I don't like how naturally comfortable she feels, fitted into my side; I don't like how she so effortlessly moves around me like she belongs there. I look for Edward again, wondering if he can tell me who this girl is.

I know the girl is talking again and I really would like to hear it, but I don't want to care about what she says. I only want Edward.

"And you haven't heard a single word I've said."

I could lie but… "Sorry."

Maybe she'll go away if I offend her.

She laughs genially, "Nah, it's cool…see you in gym." Then she pats my chest, like it's a sure thing. Does she even go to our school?

"Wait, you're in Clapp's class?" How could I have missed someone like her?

"Well yeah, but Edward has gym with us too, so…" The way her voice trails off clearly implies something. I'm being made fun of, I know this. But for some reason, there is absolutely no harshness to her mocking, more like an amused understanding. Who is this girl?

She _knows_. I know she knows but I'm not panicked, hell, I'm sort of relieved she's the one that can tell. This feeling, a feeling of connection, is something I haven't experienced since the day I met Edward.

I don't know what the fuck this means.

"Oh my god, it's the cops!"

It's like a scene out of Jaws or Piranha; the second this warning is bellowed everyone immediately evacuates the lake, scrambling to grab clothes and belongings as they run as quickly as possible. The shrieks of girls and boys are, for the most part, one and the same, but for some the added danger of a possible arrest further excites them so I hear a lot of raucous laughter as well.

I feel like I'm in a tidal pool, the harshness of people's rushing movements to escape leave me in the middle of this raging pool of panic, the complete opposite of the playful sway of the water that it had once had.

I turn back to Alice, slightly confused and a little worried. Where is Edward?

She seems to be oddly delighted by this turn of events, watching panicking swimmers rush away from the lake bemusedly. "Great meeting you, Jasper," a wet hand pats my cheek- again, it's not even remotely patronizing. And then she floats away from me, partially hidden by her taller friends. Her smile is a ghost in my memory, haunting me as she swims away with my secrets.

Weird.

Okay, I might have thought that all of the upperclassmen of Forks were idiots…well, that's still mostly true. Someone left a towel lying around, which is good, I guess. At least if the cops catch me while I'm looking for Edward, I'll have something covering my ass.

Of all the times for him to disappear on me, the jerk. And the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree; Emmett took off towards his jeep with a girl slung over his back as she tried to put her bra back on. I'm not sure if he'll be at school on Monday or in Mexico. Coward.

I guess I should be a little nervous walking around here in the dark with the potential of getting arrested, but it truly can't get any worse. Everything that's happened tonight, I wouldn't exactly say 'It was worth it', but I do feel a little liberated. For once, I've really taken a chance; I drank a little, met new people and skinny dipped. All in all, I'd say I'm really catching up on the teenage rebellion thing.

My prideful musings are only mildly distracting as I hunt for Edward: we gotta get out of here. I don't know where he went off to, but it shouldn't be hard to find him, we're probably the only two stupids still at the lake. Everyone else all but vanished as they sped towards the woods and out of sight. I know Edward wouldn't leave me; he's the one who brought me here, after all. And there's no chance that he's lost, he knows Forks like the back of his hand.

Maybe he's waiting for me by our bikes… I should just head back into the woods, he could be waiting for me…

I'm standing by some bushes, about to head back to the docks, to the woods. But then the bushes kinda _move._After shaking my head from the tiny bit of fright that wells up in me, I'm expecting to see some drunken kid stumble out from behind them, but when they don't, I move towards them.

I'm not prepared for what I see even though I hear it first.

A girlish giggle, and the smacking of what I know is the connection of lips. His voice carries; it doesn't matter what he's saying, but I know it's working. Working on her, just like it works on me. My heart knows it's him, I can already feel it plummeting into my stomach where it'll burn from this blow.

My eyes zero in on his hands, his large hands expertly exploring her breasts, tugging at the nipples as she whimpers, tossing back her head as her long brown hair falls down to her back. Her eyes are clenched shut; her hands are balled up against his naked chest. The scene is so hidden and intimate, like it's in a different world than my own. Her evident pleasure is so unbearable that it physically hurts me, the jealousy and pain collides inside me viciously.

My entry into their little scene isn't as soundless as I thought; they both look up at me at the sound of my footsteps. The girl- I know who she is- immediately steps away from Edward, visibly embarrassed. She works at the library after school, hair pulled up in a bun always, barely making eye contact with anyone, let alone me. Her father is on the police force, currently searching for wayward skinny dippers. For some reason, I want to call her a liar, a fraud. She quickly moves her hands to her breasts, shielding herself from view.

Honestly, how can someone pull off shy when they're naked from the waist up?

It's a wasted effort, really. I don't even want to look at her. So I look at him. I don't know what he sees when he looks at me, I don't know if he's ever truly seen me before. Our eyes are locked, his expression unfathomable.

I know it's not right, that I'm not even entitled to feel it but I can't stop the spreading smolder of betrayal that is burning strong in my throat, constricting my airways and keeping me from even breathing, let alone speaking. I blame the smoke from the fiery feeling for the tears that are stinging my eyes more than seeing her arms around him.

There's nothing here, there never was. I can't look at them anymore, I lower my eyes in nothing but defeat.

I turn around, I just want to go home now. "Awesome, you saw Swan's tits…mischief managed."

I'm sitting in bed, staring at the TV but not really seeing it. I can't avoid what keeps flashing in my memory: like the ache when you stub your toe or something, it just keeps flaring up. I've tried a hot shower, raiding the liquor cabinet, watching porn…nothing helps.

My bed has never felt so warm but my body feels numb, my very blood feels iced. I know I'm already catching a cold. How stupid I was to follow him all the way to that lake, I could have been killed. Then I got into that dirty lake with those filthy kids, I should probably get myself checked out tomorrow.

But my worst mistake is deeper than childish stupidity; it's the naivety of vain hope.

Four months, six weeks, twelve days. That's how long I've known of my feelings for Edward. That's how long I've been dreaming of him, wanting him. That's how long I've had to hide from the truth. Stupidly, I thought that someday, soon, I wouldn't have to keep counting.

I hoped that maybe I would finally get the guts to speak up; for better or worse I'd be free. But every time I ever get the courage to bring it up, I picture myself alone and rejected. A harsh echo of my life in Texas. Though it'd be much worse- before I didn't know what it was like to have a friend, to care for them, and now that I do, I don't know want to know what it's like to lose them. It's easier to be isolated when you don't care.

It's morning, almost six, but the sun hasn't come up. _It'll be dawn soon and this night will be over_, I keep repeating it to myself, hoping to derive a little comfort from that promise, but it won't come. Even if I pretend tonight didn't happen, what am I supposed to do today? What am I supposed to do tomorrow?

There'll be another night, another girl and another crack in my already splintered heart. I can't stop him from living his life, I can't keep him from exploring all the things I don't have the bravery to, no matter how selfishly I want to.

I think it's time that I stop counting stars and days and try to appreciate the life I have, even if it's not the one I want. When the sun rises, when the day is new, maybe I'll change with it.

My mind circles in an endless repetition of thoughts, memories and regret. I always get this way when I feel particularly hopeless. I begin to think of all the impossibilities of my life and then beat myself up for still coveting them.

It wasn't hard to acknowledge the fact that I liked guys, because that wasn't altogether true. I liked _a guy_, just one. It was a lot harder for me to accept the fact that the guy was my only friend. It's amazing what you can accept once you're confronted with it enough, though.

Even if I ever tell him the truth, nothing really has to change; I actually don't want it to. Nothing would have to be different; I've always wanted him this way, now we'd _both_know it. I don't want to hold his hand, I don't want to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. I just want him to really see me, know me. Either way, I'd have a way to get some relief to this burden; I wouldn't have to be so alone with it.

I've never liked a guy before, I've never liked anyone. I never thought much about my sexuality either or anybody else's. In Texas, nobody had ever piqued my interest, nor had they paid me any attention the way that Edward had. When he's around I don't really think about anything other than how he makes me feel when I'm with him. And it's hard not to like him; he's perfect in every way.

I imagine it'd be the same way had I noticed the same qualities in a girl. I'd probably be longing for them. The fact that Edward is a guy doesn't really complicate things so much as it does that he's my best and only friend. I used to feel sort of guilty thinking of him the way I do, how I could ruin our friendship with my selfishness.

Then I'm always wondering if by attaining my desire, its value will be lost to me. But that'd be too easy. Even if Edward was interested in me, I could only hope that I'd get this consuming obsession off my back with just one encounter.

But I know deep down that if I had him, just once, it wouldn't ever be enough.

I fix another drink and prop myself up further on my pillow, trying to get comfortable physically even though my mind is a mess.

I recognize an old cartoon on the screen; I haven't seen it in so long.

I watch a blonde girl recite poetry to a boy in a locket. You know a lot of kids called Helga crazy. I was the only one that didn't quite agree with that. Sure, she could probably be interpreted as a little "obsessive", and yes, her affections for Arnold were exhibited in a way that could be considered a smidge "unhealthy", but maybe nobody understood the pressure she was under. She was a very young girl with really big feelings, feelings she wasn't ready to accept or share.

Though that shrine she had of him was probably a little over the top.

My phone lights up on my desk, I don't even bother checking to see who it is. Seeing his name on my caller ID would only flare my temper anyway.

I answer the call but I don't speak.

"Jazz?"

"Yeah?" I really don't have the energy to pretend right now, maybe I'll start tomorrow.

"Oh, you got home okay," he states with obvious relief. Like he was actually worried that I couldn't find my own way home. I did just fine without him.

I'd gotten home quietly, expertly so, I've had lots of practice. Not that it's really all that hard to sneak in and out of here. As bad as it sounds, my mom's a very heavy sleeper. Nothing short of a tornado could cause that woman to so much as turn over in her sleep.

"Yeah." I'm hoping that if I continue my monosyllabic pattern of speaking, then maybe he'll get the hint and let me wallow in peace. I don't have the strength to act for him right now, but I don't have the strength to hang up on him. I'm the epitome of pathetic.

"…what happened?" His voice is questioning. I don't know what he's thinking or asking for that matter. Is he asking me where I went or why I left?

"Too drunk to remember?" I snort. He's quiet for a minute, then laughs.

"Wait, you don't like Bella, do you?" The double edged sword of hearing the girl's name and the fact that he thinks I'd prefer her to him cuts deep. I can feel my irritation with him growing.

"No." I drawl dryly. It couldn't be truer.

"Because it's no big deal, you can-"

"I said, no." It just keeps getting worse. I know it's unfair, my treatment of him, it's really just me being jealous and sour, and the fact that I can't ever tell him why.

He's determined to keep up a conversation, even though I have no idea why he even tries. "_Sooo_, what happened with Brandon?"

"Who?"

"Alice." So that's her name.

"Oh, her." I'm slightly annoyed that he's bringing her up. I find that I'm growing angry with him. Why is he trying to push her on me? And why was that girl able to see what he so blindly ignores?

There's this break of silence, making me think I that accidentally hung up on him. Before I can see if he's still there, I hear him sigh. It's a very familiar sound; I can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Jasper, you can't keep doing this," he says tiredly.

"What?" My voice is no longer dead, but not for long; it flattens immediately as he continues.

"I just don't want to watch you waste your life hiding behind me, you're better than that," he rambles off.

"What are you talking about?" My voice is a lie- in acting unaffected by everything he's saying it's my best act yet. In reality, I'm just trying to hide the hurt in my voice. I thought I couldn't feel any more pain than I did when I saw that girl all over him, but I'm quickly being proven wrong.

"You don't have a girlfriend, I'm the only one in school that you can stand and you're practically a hermit unless I make you go anywhere." It's right there, in my ear. All of my inadequacies being listed by the one person I thought had seen through all that.

I know how kind he is, how concerned he is for all his friends. He may live by 'ignorance is bliss', but I don't. I know he worries about how I don't take my place in the center of everything like he does, it's not the first time he's hinted at my potential for 'more'. In my sober mind, I know he's just trying to be a good friend, look out for me. But now I'm drunk, tired and pissed off; beautiful or not, his intentions count for shit.

My voice is stone as I curl up in a ball on the bed. "I didn't know I was so difficult."

"That's not what I'm saying."

This conversation is over. "No, it's fine I won't _cling_to you anymore."

He tries to backpedal but it's too late. "Jasper." The pleading in his voice immobilizes my finger for just a moment, but I'm too far gone, trying to hold onto the pieces of my shattered pride.

"I have to go; I need to go practice being alone." I toss the phone towards the foot of my bed; it slides to floor away from view.

My mind is blank; I don't know what just happened. It's like my worst fears have been confirmed. I'm floored by how much it hurts for someone to tell you things your heart already knows. For some reason, I feel the most defeated than I ever have. I always knew I never had a chance, but right now I wish I had never hoped for one.

I'm sure that he's baffled by my inconstancy, but it can't be helped. I blow hot and cold and it's probably going to end up driving Edward away. We can't last with me sniping at him based on my insecurities while he's completely thoughtless as to why. I can't keep pushing him away on purpose because I'm afraid he'll do it first.

But soon it won't be a matter of me doing the pushing; soon he'll want to go. I don't know how I got so wrapped up in the idea of competing with all the girls in Forks for the affections for my heterosexual best friend.

The embarrassment of knowing how hard I've fooled myself is so hard to face that I close my eyes. But I have no choice to accept it, no matter how much it kills me. I can't keep going on this way. I can't keep punishing him for not feeling the way that I do and I can't keep punishing myself for something that just wasn't meant to be.

Edward wants change? Fine, I'll give it to him.

I pop open another beer and try to imagine a different me.

Over time, in sticky spots, I've been prone to giving myself words of empowerment. "Fortune favors the brave," "It's always darkest before dawn," silver linings…and so on. But they've always been just words. Just idioms. But if you're in the right mind they're guidelines. I can't say I'm in my right mind now, but mix those words with a little liquid courage and they're not just generic advice.

I sway a bit on my feet; my landing is imperfect inside his room. I'd like to think I would have the same finesse that Edward has, the kind of intrinsic grace he has when he climbs through my window. I guess it's fitting, there's nothing perfect about this plan.

I've been here before but it's different now, it seems more remote, like the dark unknown space of my dreams. I had stared from the bottom of his two story house, into his darkened windows, debating with myself. It's the perfect opportunity, all I have to do is take it, I'd thought. It hadn't taken me long to get here, living in this small had its perks. His parents are asleep and technically, I'd climbed through his window before. Except my motives for going into his room are much different this time.

The sun rises at seven, the product of a winter sky even if it doesn't act the part. I only have the invisibility of dusk for another hour. The surreal risk-taking of this entire night, in such a short span of time, is staggering. The person I was, the pedestrian life I had is starting to distort into something new. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to cope with the changes.

But anything is better than living day to day in repression and uncertainty. Edward's right, I can't keep hiding. I've been swallowing the truth for so long; I'm so full of lies. I have nothing left to fear anyway. Edward had said it himself, I can't just cling to him forever, waiting for him to want me the way I want him. I may be determined to waste my time wishing for something that will never come but I can't freeze Edward's life. Sooner or later, he'll get tired of me third-wheeling it all the time.

So if he's going to leave, breaking me completely, I figure I might as well get something out of it.

I stare into the dark; there is a total absence of light here and I'm going to have to rely on dreams and memories that feature this room. I know that if I just walk a few steps, there will be a gold hamper at the corner, and that his dresser is to the right. Their house is in top form, so there will be no squeaky floorboards. If I do this right, I won't make a sound. It's up to me to blend in with the very air, in order to make it to Edward.

He doesn't even stir as I stalk over to his bed, it's eerie. It's like I'm not even here.

His bed is the hugest thing in here; he likes to stretch out, he'd told me. I place my knee, ever so gently onto the mattress; my movements are steady as I crawl carefully until I am kneeling beside his sleeping form. Edward's not the lightest sleeper, but I know if he hadn't drunk so much earlier, he'd be able to feel this. I take a look at him, his chest rising and falling deeply; I'm screwed if the rhythm of his breathing makes just one deviation.

I'm lucky he's not sprawled out on his stomach like usual, I only know this because I've slept over…_invited_. It'd make this so much more difficult if he wasn't already laid out on his back, one arm hanging off the edge of his bed and the other slung over his face. It's like someone just dropped him here, he's even lackadaisical in his sleep.

I never knew a human heart could be so loud or so fast, but as I hear each resounding thump in my ears it's a sign that he hasn't woken, because my heart's pounding would completely fade away if he noticed me now. I lift my leg high, stretching across to the other side of his legs, and then I move seamlessly until I'm slightly straddling his knees.

My hands are slick with sweat; I can't believe I've made it this far and my scalp prickles from the rush I get from this. I can just barely see his face in the glow of his alarm clock; his forehead is lined with heavy sleep, his mouth slack where a slight snore is issuing from it.

It's really wrong but his vulnerable state is so fucking hot, he's completely at my mercy. In his sleep, I'm hovering over him, preparing his body for what I want, preparing to take what I want.

He's shirtless and my hands long to stroke his chest, feeling his soft skin under my hand, I desperately want to take his nipples between my teeth, sucking them until they're swollen and red. But that'd definitely wake him…maybe later.

I bite my lip as my fingers grip the edge of his boxers; it's the first time I begin to have doubts. This could become catastrophic or sublime. I mean, the best case scenario is that he never wakes up. Okay, that's unrealistic, but the worst case scenario is something I don't even want to think about.

I ignore the nerves clustering in my belly and try to continue on; it's too late to turn back, really. My hands shake as I finally tug the waistband past his hips. My knuckles brush against the downy hair lining his abdomen, my hair falls into my eyes as I follow my hands' movements while I slowly pull his boxers down from his waist.

Inch by agonizing inch, I tug his boxers past his hips until his limp cock is in view; I pull it down further to his knees. I have to stop every so often to check if he's still asleep, so this takes a few minutes.

My breathing is ragged, even in its deflated state his length is still impressive. I'm actually quite looking forward to sucking him until he's nice and hard for me. I'm not surprised at how perfect his dick is, but it's something I never really thought about. It was his most private place, my imagination wouldn't have accounted for much to me. It'd only be a hollow reminder that I would never get a chance to see the real thing.

Sure, I fantasize about him and his sexy body but I never take too many peeks at his package. Counting all the different colors in someone's hair while they're not looking is one thing, but constantly eyeballing another dude's crotch is something you can't really get away with. For fear of getting caught, my eyes are almost always level with his.

At this point my hands are on either side of his legs, and I'm leaning closely into his pelvis; I peek up at him to make sure he's still knocked out. I'm intoxicated from the adrenaline running through me, my breaths are shaky and uneven as I consider what I'm about to do. But I don't want to think, so I move closer.

My nose rides the jutting bones of his hips; I breathe him in as I go. The pure clean smell of his soap, the sweetness of his skin mingles deliciously with his natural musk, it always surrounds me whether I'm awake and sitting next to him in study hall or far away from him, dreaming of my desire for him. My senses are assaulted by his aroma and my mouth waters in response.

My hair falls onto his stomach; I really should think of getting a haircut. The sensation must tickle his skin, because he moves. Every muscle, some I didn't even know I possessed, freezes immediately.

He stirs slightly, and then places his hand on his stomach; directly above my head, his fingernail only millimeters from my eyebrow. Any closer and his hand would have brushed my hair, something else I'd never thought of but it causes both excitement and dread in me.

I don't have much time left, he'll either awaken or the sun will rise soon.

It's now or never.

I press my hands to his thighs and a moan sounds from the back of his throat; it comes out like a breath, and then dies away. I rub his thighs gently in an effort to soothe him, and then I spread them slowly.

My hands graze the crisp curls at the apex of his thighs until I'm gripping him in my hand. It's so strange to be touching him in this way, but it's like this switch comes on; everything comes so naturally. My hand begins to slowly stroke him, up and down; I manipulate his soft flesh in my hands until I start to feel him naturally respond to me.

I steel myself for my next move as I lean down and close my lips around the head of his cock. I wish I could compare the taste of him here to other places of his body, but I'm more than willing to savor him here. His cock fills my mouth, stretching it to take him as deep as possible. My lips touch the base of his cock, and I hold him there for a bit, reveling in the fullness until my throat protests and I pull back for air.

My eyes nearly cross with the deviant pleasure of what I'm doing, and I swirl my tongue around his head, catching the welling bead of come from his tip.

His breathing is harsh, on the cusp of panting but not quite there yet. He involuntarily moves his hips in the direction of my mouth, where my tongue is laving him.

He starts to whine, light sighing mixed with confusion. I silently marvel at the sensation of him in my mouth, as he thickens and grows warmer inside. I lavish licks and nibbles on the underside of his growing cock.

"Whaaa?" he slurs but it cuts off in a moan; his voice is thick with sleep and bewilderment.

"Mmmmmm." I'll always wonder what he was dreaming of, what he thought was happening to him as he slowly started to wake up. I watch his eyes flutter, his body unconsciously moving to see what's going on.

I can tell when he's realized what the fuck is happening: I don't hear him breathing, I don't feel him moving. But I keep going, swirling my tongue around his head. He starts to get fitful, so I shush him; my warm breath causes him to shudder.

"_Jazzz_?" His voice is full of recognition, but it's hidden under the disbelief.

Before he can get up, I move closer up his body, his dick slipping from my mouth gradually. My eyebrow rises skeptically- he won't make a noise. What would Dr. and Mrs. Cullen think if they saw their son's hard dick down my throat in the middle of the night? I doubt they'd want to hear anybody's side of the story, let alone his.

His eyes widen as I swiftly resume my work on his cock; I hum around his warm length. I don't know whether he's shocked about the fact that sweet, thoughtful Jazzy stole into his room in the middle of the night just to suck him off or the fact that I'm not stopping while he's looking dead at me. Whatever it is, it causes him to sit up slightly.

His hands clutch at the shirt on my back in a lame effort to pull me away from him. "What the fuck, Jasper?"

I feel primal as I wrap my hands around his thighs, effectively bringing him closer to me and holding him down. I'm roughly stroking his long full erection, as he hisses and tries to bat my hands away from him. He resists a bit but when I start to massage on one of his balls, dragging my nails at the skin, his head hits his pillow with a muted thud.

"No..no..no…" He chants it as I slide back down his chest, bringing my mouth impossibly close. His leg falls down the bed, beside my head, thumping quietly in my ear. I see him ball his hands in his sheets, I hear him trying to stifle his noises, but that's not what I want. I want him to lose all control, feel absolutely insane with lust until he has no choice but to give in to his need. Like I am.

He's thrashing, he doesn't know whether he wants me to stop or keep going. I see his struggle, hear it in his desperate cries. My heart almost aches at his turmoil but I can't stop now, he has to know what this is like.

I want him to know how complicated this feels for me, even when it's not real. How it feels to want to experience something so _good_even if you know it's wrong.

That's right, Edward. Give in like I had to when I first started to dream of you.

I fill the overflowing slit in his cock with the tip of my tongue, sucking slowly at the precum seeping from his aching head.

Searching hands turn hungry as he finds the very edge of my hair, his fingers slide clumsily through the strands, he touches the tips hesitantly.

His thighs flex holding me in a vice between them, my shoulders protest at his grip. His response to me is desperate now, he needs me and I'm reveling in it. He tugs my hair impatiently as I trace a prominent vein in his dick, taking my time exploring the length of his cock. He can fucking wait, he knows nothing about impatience. The dual desire of wanting to make him come hard and fast is warring with my desire to torture him by denying him any pleasure until he begs for it.

Slowly I drag my mouth up and down his swollen dick, my lips stretched and wet. He's moaning and his words are nonsensical, urging me down on him, but I won't go at the pace he wants. My teasing licks and rakes up his cock with my teeth and wet tongue are driving him slowly insane, a living metaphor for how I've felt the past few months.

A strangled plea comes from above. "Jasper…shit." I think he's had enough of the games. I need him at his breaking point, drowning in need like I always am for him.

He tightens his grip on my hair, giving me a double shot of pain to my scalp and groin. My dick gives a slight jerk, like it's dying to be released from its flannel prison. I can't think of anything else but getting him off, feeling him spasm as he shoots his load down my throat. It's all I want, and apparently all he wants too as he begins to fuck my face. Strangled grunts choke from his mouth every time he drives his hot hardness into my mouth; he grinds his pelvis into my face feverishly, his gyrations rocking the bed slightly.

His balls are tightening in my hand; he can't hold on much longer and I'm certain that's what he's been trying to do. I don't know how long we've been at it, but the room is brightening, giving light to the fire behind Edward's eyes. I'm surprised as he watches his slick cock intensely as it enters and exits my mouth. His aggression has me moaning around him every so often, the only outlet for my arousal. I feel like if I rub this fucking mattress the wrong way, I could cream all over his sheets.

He's close now, his breath coming out in sputtering gasps. I'm fully prepared for what comes next, I've been waiting forever for it.

"_Fuuuuck._" It's bitten out through his teeth, a strained screaming curse that echoes off the walls and into my ears.

There's a good chance that Edward will never speak to me; he'll probably leave me alone now. But when he leaves, he's always gonna know that he's left something with me, something that I've taken. And I'm always going to know that I took a little piece of his power over me.

His offering comes out shooting wetly into my mouth, my reward. As I take his spilled ecstasy down my throat, in my mouth, I think of what I've just given him and also what I've just taken. I drink from him until there is nothing left but his broken cries above me. I lick him until he stops thrusting, I cleanse him of his weakness for me.

In his release, I'm the one that's freed. I've given him something mind-blowing; he can't escape it no matter how hard he tries. Finally he'll understand the nettling in my brain, the yearning in my soul and the feebleness of my heart when I'm gripped by thoughts of him.

I wonder what this feels like for him. If it feels better than when I touch myself to thoughts of him. Does he feel the same relief as I do, as all my mindless efforts spill out from inside me, running down the drain, leaving me slumped against the tile whimpering weakly with my lungs searching for air? I wonder if it's like that, or if it's better because it's someone else wringing his body for all its pleasure, working nonstop until he achieves that point of burning passion.

As my tongue releases his spent erection, I see the most beautiful sight. His lip is crushed between his teeth, his face is crumpled but his eyes are opened very wide, fixed at a place on his ceiling. His chest is heaving, as if he's manually collecting air for his lungs. He's gripping his hair in one hand, while his arm hangs lazily over his heart. It's like he's just been on the brink of death and someone just pulled him from it. It's like he's been hit with an almost impossible truth. He looks stricken.

He doesn't move from his position, the only sign that he's still alive is his slightly slowing breaths. I don't look at him as I climb lightly off the bed; I wince as my heavy erection hits my thighs with every step. For some reason, it's not at all awkward for me as I leave him lying there; all I feel is relief. Which is ironic because I'm not the one who just came.

I walk back towards the window, I smile a little, not in pride but in anticipation.

The things we just did, the things I'd only dreamed of in the darkest corner of nightfall, it has light now. I don't turn back to the bed where he lies; I don't look back into the room. I don't want to see any expression on his face that could replace the one I saw when I made him come, nothing must mar that.

Maybe I'll be the memory that tortures him late at night, maybe he'll be the one staring at me in the locker rooms. Maybe I'll be the one he takes a chance for.

Either way, he knows the truth now. We both do.

As I climb out, I see the slight perforations in the seemingly endless black sky, little spots of repressed sunlight struggling to push its way through to the world.

Dawn approaches.

* * *

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	2. Voting Information

Hey Everybody!

Sorry for the fake out, but this is not a new chapter for this story. We wanted to make sure we let everyone who's interested in this contest and this story in particular aware of some contest changes.

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